Darkness Means Nothing (Without Light to Prove It Exists)
by RavenclawGenius
Summary: Smoaking Canary: Sara may have darkness inside, but she still has feelings - and Felicity Smoak is very good at making Sara feel things. AU; I'm screwing around with the timeline for my own convenience. Rated T for now, though I'm seemingly incapable of writing basically anything without smut, so you should probably expect a rating change, at some point.
1. I

**I.**

The night that Felicity earns her first Team Arrow scar, Sara is conflicted. She feels guilty, and knows that she shouldn't – because she had been there to protect Felicity, yes, but it cannot be her fault if Felicity literally and forcefully shoves herself into danger protecting _Sara_, can it?

She thanks Felicity for her bravery as she inspects her new wound, and she means it sincerely, because despite that Sara could probably have ducked in time to miss Tockman's bullet with Felicity's cry of warning, it is strange, to her, that anyone would do such a thing. It was selfless and, in spite of her efforts to convey such to the IT mastermind, it was a braver action than Sara could say.

That someone would do such a thing for _her_ is almost unthinkable, and Sara struggles to understand why, and even how.

Nyssa had protected Sara, and she had saved her, too – but it was not the same. Sara was a different girl then. She was _only_ a girl, then, she amends thoughtfully. She was not then the woman who she is today, and even if Sara isn't always sure exactly who that woman is, she isn't sure that hers is a life worth saving, anymore – if it ever was to begin with.

Especially not at risk to the innocence of Felicity Smoak.

But even then, it is different. Nyssa molded Sara into a warrior when that was what she needed most, and Sara will always love Nyssa for that dedication. And, of course, for saving her. Now, Sara does not _need_ to be a warrior, but she cannot make it stop. And what kind of warrior is she, anyway, if she cannot fight for the blonde computer hacker who makes her feel undamaged?

What kind of warrior is Sara if she cannot protect the _only_ _thing_ who has made her feel that way since the Gambit went down?

Still, if Felicity's day-to-day babbling is cute, it is nothing compared to drug-addled Felicity's babbling, complete with a slew of adorable expressions that take over her face, and despite her internal crisis, Sara is nothing but utterly charmed.

"I always wanted to say I took a bullet for someone," Felicity pouts thoughtfully, even if her eyes drift lazily to the ceiling as she leans backward on the hand set on the examination table behind her to keep her steady, "and now I can. So, really, I should be thanking you."

It's awkward, Sara realizes later, how long she regards Felicity Smoak in silence after that. She's still standing closely behind her, and if she thinks on it hard enough, she can feel the heat from Felicity's body an inch or two from her own stomach, but Sara isn't thinking on it hardly at all.

Instead, it is the look of utter sincerity and pride in Felicity's blindingly bright eyes that Sara thinks on, and the tiny smile that lilts the edges of her mouth upward.

When Sara realizes that she is still staring, she turns her gaze away and lets Oliver summarize their night and plans for the following ones. She keeps a close watch on Felicity, though, and when finally they are finished and Oliver instructs Diggle to bring her home, Sara plainly rejects.

"No," she insists. "I'll take her."

Oliver tips his head in minute confusion, but when he looks at Sara, she offers him nothing but a grin that feels as fake as the ones she offers Laurel, and a sheepish shrug.

"She saved my life," Sara explains with nonchalance that she doesn't feel at all, because her insides are quaking and her mind is reeling and it is all that she can do – _all_ that she can do – to keep the quiver from her voice.

Sara had spent a long time being afraid, and so she knows what it feels like. But she does not understand why she feels it so strongly tonight, and all that she does know is that she needs to be sure that Felicity is okay.

She will have the comfort of that knowledge with or without Oliver's approval, Sara is determined, but it would still be simpler just to have it.

"Yeah," Oliver smiles fondly, turning to regard Felicity with pride and affection.

Sara shuffles on her feet for a moment, unsure about both the look he's giving Felicity and the distinct lack of it when his gaze returns to Sara as he nods his consent to her plan.

Oliver hugs Felicity and briefly touches his lips to the top of her head, at which the blonde smiles dopily and weakly punches him on the shoulder. Oliver chuckles and shakes his head, moving to Sara and offering her cheek a small kiss, too. Sara tries to smile again, and hopes that if Nyssa taught her anything but the skill to be a fighter, she maybe imparted some skill with emotional disguise, too.

Because Nyssa loves Sara with whatever soul she has left, but Sara had never known until Nyssa had decided to tell her.

Nyssa is good at secrets.

Far better at them than Sara, in any case.

Felicity looks questioningly at Sara, obviously wondering if her escort is ready to leave – and it is a fair enough question, because Felicity has been wounded and dosed with painkillers and she has had a stressful few days, anyway, so she must be tired.

She must be so tired, Sara realizes belatedly, and rushes to nod immediately. Oliver chivalrously helps Felicity climb the stairs, and Sara blindly follows. But when the black leather jacket that Felicity had worn to the bank that night catches her eye, Sara's fingers instinctively reach for it, absently stroking the worn material with the pads of her thumbs during her ascent.

Oliver bids them both goodnight with another soft kiss to Sara's mouth after he has Felicity securely tucked into the passenger seat of her car. Sara responds and smiles at him genuinely, because even if she sometimes thinks that she and Oliver have an arrangement built upon convenience and not much else, she does still care for him deeply.

Still, she is easily distracted from thoughts of Oliver by thoughts of Felicity when the blonde lolls her head along the back of the passenger seat to face Sara. The other blonde's eyes sluggishly travel to the jacket that Sara had carefully placed over the center console as she climbed into the car.

"I didn't notice earlier," Sara smiles softly. "You've worn that jacket a lot. I thought – " She cuts herself off, dropping her eyes to Felicity's lap, because how arrogant is it that she had believed Felicity only even _owned_ that jacket because of her desire to emulate Sara?

Sara had thought it sweet, at the time, but now –

Now she is embarrassed by her assumption, because it was clearly untrue. The leather of this jacket is _worn_, Sara notes again as she picks it up and places it over her thighs, and Felicity must have worn it frequently for so many creases to be evident in its fabric.

"You thought I wore it because of you," Felicity nods matter-of-factly.

Sara flicks her eyes up from beneath hooded lids with a sheepish smile, but they flutter quickly away again, because suddenly Felicity's eyes are both steady and calculating, and far clearer than Sara thinks they have a right to be, given the high dosage of painkillers Diggle had (_somewhat _illegally) prescribed.

"I did," Felicity tells her.

Sara's eyes snap upward again in confusion and curiosity, but Felicity's eyes are closed, now, so Sara has nothing but her mouth to look at when the other blonde speaks again; Sara thinks that there are much worse things to look at, honestly, because Felicity's mouth is… _so pretty. _And even though the revelation startles Sara, she cannot bring herself to look away, either.

"I'm jealous," Felicity shrugs sloppily, head still tilted back against her seat and eyes, apparently, still too heavy to open. "Or I was. Of you. And then I wasn't. I mean, I am, because it's not like you don't have anything to be jealous of," she rushes to amend. "Like, hi, you're wildly attractive and have ridiculous abs and you can fight _woah_ kind of impressively, so there's plenty to be jealous _of_, obviously, and I _was_," she insists, shaking her head at herself even with her eyes closed.

Sara wants to tell her, again, that she is so, _so_ cute, but she is eager to hear what has changed and she is flattered by Felicity's words, and a larger part of her just selfishly wants them to continue. So Sara waits.

She waits until Felicity's eyes peek open again and the IT girl offers her a lopsided grin.

Felicity struggles to lean forward until she is only two inches from Sara's face, and suddenly Sara is torn between scrambling away – as far away as she can, and suddenly the other half of the world doesn't even feel far enough – and leaning closer to put Felicity's lips closer to her ear in preparation for the secret that Felicity looks ready to share with her.

She stays immobile.

Felicity shares a secret, anyway.

"I have a type, you know," Felicity laughs softly at herself.

"Oh?" Sara's brow lifts, amused with the _non sequiter_ and irrationally pleased with the relief of tension, even if she thinks that Felicity is too doped up to even have noticed said tension's existence.

"Mhmm," Felicity hums with a grin. "Oliver," she nods, as though the fact is simply that – a fact.

And it is.

Sara knows about Felicity's feelings for Oliver, although the feelings between the two are murkily defined, at best – and she knows about Oliver's feelings for Felicity, too.

"I'm sorry," Sara whispers, knowing that although she is not the cause of it, seeing her with Oliver must be difficult for Felicity.

"Don't be," Felicity huffs. "It's not your fault he has a stupid hero complex."

Despite herself, and her guilt, Sara laughs softly. Felicity has quite the capacity for bluntness, and Sara has long believed it to be sweet.

"Barry," Felicity says next.

"Huh?" Sara frowns.

"Friend," Felicity explains. "Struck by lightning," she waves her hand impatiently, like she's over explaining but understands that Sara needs more to go on. "Super fast super hero in Central City."

"I see," Sara nods along, though she is still lost as to how this conversation relates in any way to the one that they were having before. Still, she is amused, and Felicity seems to be enjoying herself, so Sara has no intention of making her stop.

Although, it might be a good idea to actually start _driving_ soon, Sara concedes.

"You," Felicity murmurs softly.

Sara freezes, apart from the slight parting of her lips in surprise, before she stutters out, "_What?_"

Felicity merely nods and shrinks back in her seat, but she does not tear her gaze from Sara's except to flicker to the jacket draped over her legs.

"I was jealous," Felicity repeats. "And then I wasn't. Because, you know, I've never cared about a woman before. Not like that. Not like _this_," she corrects. "So I didn't understand and I thought it was jealousy until I remembered – "

"You have a type," Sara smiles, lightly biting her lower lip as Felicity nods emphatically and grins with Sara's understanding.

"I do," Felicity laughs and flushes pink, even through the haze of the drugs, but she shrugs and nods to the jacket. "I had an identity crisis in college. I wore that jacket, then, and really haven't worn it much since, except, you know, when I'm way out of my league and trying to be more attractive than I am, so… there's that," she nods. "But when I was going through my crisis in college, I thought that I didn't _want_ to change. So I bought a new wardrobe and I kept things a little more… professional," she chuckles, and Sara helplessly does, too. "The jacket, though…" Felicity trails off, eyes clouding over as she watches it carefully. "It was my favorite. And I thought, for a second, that when I put it on I might feel- more like myself."

"You were having an identity crisis," Sara realizes.

"Yup," Felicity drops her chin to her chest in a heavy nod just as the 'p' pops off her lips, and Sara smiles affectionately when it looks like the effort to lift her head again causes a small huff of laughter to escape her passenger's mouth.

"Because of me?" Sara hesitates to ask.

"Nope," Felicity shakes her head adamantly. "Because of me. I've never – "

"Cared about a woman before," Sara nods, echoing Felicity's words back at her with an understanding that is purely genuine.

But misplaced.

"I've never been home," Felicity blurts out. She then rolls her eyes and says, "Well, I _have_ a home. Obviously. I didn't just spring into existence on the side of the road. I have a family. You know, a mom. But she was never home and she's- complicated. It's complicated," Felicity puffs her cheeks out and releases a soft stream of air from behind her lips.

Sara wants to know more – desperately – but now is not the time, and Sara already feels a little like she is taking advantage of Felicity's even-looser-than-normal tongue, so she does not ask.

"And, anyway, the point is that I didn't have a _home_. Or at least nothing that felt like one. And… now I do," she says, smiling softly, but keeping her lips momentarily puckered outward on the final syllable as she evaluates Sara's expression. "But sometimes…" Felicity sighs. "I have a serious thing for heroes, apparently," she scrunches her nose up. "That sounds bad. But it isn't," she declares. "Still, I'm definitely _not_ a hero," she laughs at herself. "I do everything from behind my computers, and it's my happy place, and I'm comfortable there. But even with your training, being _shot at_ is not comfortable," Felicity decides.

"Not usually," Sara agrees with a laugh that spawns from some place in her heart that has long been neglected.

"Exactly," Felicity nods. "So how is it fair that I stay underground with my computers in my comfort zone when you guys have to go outside of yours every other night? I thought, if I put on the jacket, maybe I could remind myself that I used to be a little more reckless; that maybe I _need_ to be a little more reckless to actually help save Starling City."

Sara ponders this quietly, before she reaches to place her palm gently over Felicity's knee. Felicity's head drops so that she can look, and when she raises it again, Sara is almost overwhelmed by how abruptly her own breathing halts.

It's just- people don't _look_ at Sara that way.

People hardly look at Sara at all, and when they do, it doesn't feel like they're looking at _her_. They see what she has become. They see The Canary, and Sara had worked hard under that name, but she did not leave The League so that she could keep that part of herself alive; she left The League to keep _Sara_ alive – or what was left of her – and even though Felicity, herself, is unique, the look that she is giving Sara now feels like more than that.

The look that she is giving Sara now feels nothing short of _precious_.

"You break the law, too," Sara says carefully. "You sacrifice, _too_," she insists. "_You_ are a hero_, too_, Felicity."

A coy grin creeps up the corners of Felicity's mouth, and Sara is almost ready to feel suspicious of it – _almost_, because nothing about Felicity Smoak is really 'suspicious' to Sara at all, except, perhaps, to an outsider regarding the executive assistant's relationship to one Oliver Queen.

Still, Sara cannot be wary, because Felicity's next words are hopeful and sly and playful in a way that Sara never really gets to be with anyone.

"D'you think I could be _your_ hero?"

It is hopeful and sly and playful, but there is an undercurrent of desperate sincerity that has Sara wondering how recently Felicity sorted through her feelings, because even though the other blonde claims that this is a recent development, to Sara, it _feels_ like it runs a lot deeper than hero infatuation.

And Sara is no hero, anyway.

But – at least tonight – Felicity _is_ her hero.

This woman took a _bullet_ for Sara, and though bullets have become part and parcel of her life since being stranded by the Queen's Gambit, she is not disillusioned enough of the rest of the world to believe that true of everyone. Felicity did not have Sara's training or preparation or experience with being shot at.

And she took a bullet for her, anyway, despite being terrified.

So Sara reaches up and gently curls a wayward strand of dyed blonde hair behind Felicity's ear, and with her fingers still lingering softly on the genius's cheek, and with said genius purring softly as she blithely pushes her face further into the caress, Sara whispers, "Felicity Smoak, you already _are_ my hero."

Part of it is to comfort Felicity, but a larger part of Sara knows that it is truth, because even before Felicity's brave actions tonight, the blonde saves Sara in ways that Nyssa never did.

She lets her just… _be_. Felicity allows Sara to be whichever part of herself she most identifies with on any given day, and Felicity does not judge or criticize or lecture. Felicity just lets her _be_.

"I'm your hero," Felicity echoes softly, a tiny quirk of a self-satisfied smile itching at her mouth. Seeking more of Sara's touch and raising a slowly moving palm to hug the former assassin's fingers, urging them more firmly against her face, Felicity looks up at Sara with soft, sleepy blue eyes, and murmurs, "I keep you safe."

Sara doesn't need to be protected, but protected is not safe, and they are not the same. Sara knows that, and she thinks that Felicity must, too, because if all she meant was that she would keep her from harm – which Sara could more easily do on her own, honestly – then Felicity would not still be _looking_ at her that way.

"I'm your hero," Felicity whispers again, holding Sara's fingers still as she moves the palm of Sara's hand to her lips and presses her mouth against it.

Felicity doesn't quite kiss her hand; just keeps her lips tucked securely to the center of it and breathes a delicate sigh that Sara cannot decipher.

She does not understand Felicity Smoak, and she might _never_ understand her; Sara may be too damaged to conceive of the light that inherently blares from Felicity Smoak's soul. But that same light is precisely what makes Felicity her hero, because Sara can never have that light back, and she'd lost it the moment the sea had pulled her from Oliver's father's yacht.

Sara thinks that Felicity would have held onto her light longer.

Sara thinks that maybe she might have a hero infatuation, too.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ So, I just watched Arrow, and I've decided I hardcore ship Smoaking Canary - which is actually a little depressing considering that this ship is virutally nonexistent on this site. I've found several at AO3, but I only really post there when I remember to do so and FF is basically my internet home, so this is me making an effort to start a crew for the ship over here. Don't let me down, guys! Please review, and thanks for reading. This is my first Arrow fic, and I'm trying to keep everyone in character, so please tell me if I've made a mess of it.


	2. II & III

**II.**

Felicity believes that it is gratitude which makes Sara so frequently press her mouth against the now pink flesh of her new scar, and Sara is not altogether sure that Felicity is wrong.

At least, not wrong _entirely_.

The first night – the night that she had taken Felicity home and changed her into the cutest of baby blue pajama sets and tucked her into bed – it had partly been habit. Though Nyssa had never been one to show weakness, she had mistaken Sara's worry for pride when Sara had kissed her abrasions and laved her tongue soothingly against them.

Nyssa was nothing if not proud of her work, and if Sara wished to dote upon her wounds and cherish her for them, Nyssa had been more than happy to allow it.

But as Sara's head had ducked closer to Felicity Smoak that night, emotions raging with affection and fear and warmth and–yes–_gratitude_, Sara had realized her intent, and she could have stopped it in plenty of time for Felicity to never have noticed.

Still, Sara's mouth had found Felicity's shoulder and the patch of gauze that had covered it, and Sara had kissed the injury, anyway.

Because Felicity was not Nyssa, but Sara was worried all the same.

Now, though, it is almost commonplace for her mouth to find that scar again, and Sara knows that it is not worry that prompts her, anymore, but care.

Sara makes effort to be careful around Diggle, Oliver, and Roy, because although she cares, Sara is not ready to admit to herself (and certainly not anyone else) how _much_.

But if she and Felicity are alone – if Felicity is preparing to talk Sara in on a solo mission, or if they both hang around the Foundry just that little bit longer than everyone else – Sara indulges herself.

Sara allows her lips to ghost across that beautiful, terrifying scar on her way out of the door; she allows her face to drop softly into the crook of Felicity's neck as the hacker pulls up security cameras and blueprints and whatever else they ask of her, and when Felicity has found what she needs, Sara offers that puckered skin a small kiss of celebratory congratulations and admiration.

Like now.

Sara is stretched behind her, and the scent of Felicity is as vibrant and colorful as the woman herself – and equally mesmerizing, too. The former assassin has one arm braced over the back of Felicity's chair, and the other is keeping said chair from rolling backward by planting itself atop Felicity's desk.

But Sara killed people for a living for a very long time, and so she immediately recognizes that Felicity is properly trapped in place, and that knowledge does things to Sara's mind that cannot be _un_done. Because what could Sara possibly do with a trapped Felicity Smoak?

A lot, Sara knows – and, she suddenly realizes, as much as she _could_ do, she _wants_ to do even more.

"There," Felicity drops her pen, hands flying back to the surface of her keyboard and fingers tapping wildly against the keys beneath them. "Fourth floor security cameras are down," she speaks into the awaiting Bluetooth, and with her matching one, Sara can hear Ollie and Roy moving into position.

She partly wishes that she could be there to help, but Oliver is determined to teach Roy his methods, and that cannot be done with Sara there to contradict them.

Because Sara was not trained the way that Oliver was, and certainly not with the same degree of morality, so it cannot be good for Roy to learn _anything_ from Sara – in this, Sara is quite confident.

Still, she is pleased to have been left behind, too, because Felicity is always left behind – Sara momentarily feels stunned and concurrently just _sad_ by this thought, and vows to correct it whenever possible – and Sara is more than happy to spend more time with her.

"Nice job," she praises, and – with little surprise – closes her lips over Felicity's scar once more.

"Thanks," Felicity replies breathily, slowly turning her face to view Sara's own.

Outwardly, Sara is calm.

She is cool, she is collected, she is poise and grace and perhaps a bit curious, because though Felicity will occasionally grin when Sara kisses her shoulder, she otherwise says nothing.

That looks like it might change.

And so while Sara is outwardly calm, inwardly, Sara is decidedly anything but. Her heart pounds and her stomach twists and her palms sweat, even as one clenches tighter around Felicity's chair to prevent acknowledgment of the shaking in them, too.

"Sara?" Felicity whispers softly, eyes timidly moving to find the former assassin's.

Sara knows that she will ask, and Sara knows better than to let her, but Felicity's blue eyes are crippling in their abruptly intense evaluation, and Sara can do nothing to counter her but stare back into a face that is far too close to her own.

"Is it weird for you that I have feelings? You know, like, non-friendly… feelings? Not that we're not friends, because we are. I think. You're _my_ friend," Felicity determines with a brief tip of her head sideways. "But, more-than-friendly feelings. About you, I mean. Obviously. Who else would I be talking about?" She laughs nervously. "It's just that… we haven't talked about it?" The end of the sentence lilts somewhere into a question, and Sara is unsure why, but she is suddenly fighting off a tender smile as Felicity scrunches her nose up and rushes to add, "Not that we have to. Because we don't. We totally don't need to talk about it, ever. But you just seem… different?"

Amusedly, Sara looks down at her and lifts a brow. "Do all your sentences usually turn into questions when you're nervous?"

"Maybe?" Felicity hedges with an uncertain laugh. "Sorry. I'm painfully awkward. Not that you don't know that already," she rolls her eyes at herself. "I just mean," Felicity begins slowly, "that if it's bothering you, we can talk. Or if it's not, you can tell me if something else is wrong. Or you could not," she spews hastily. "Because, you know, we don't have to talk at all. But you can. If you want," she finally says, nodding and strictly maintaining Sara's gaze with her own to be sure that, amidst her babbling, Sara understands her _message_, too.

Sara does.

"I'm not ready to talk, yet," Sara decides after a long moment of nothing but continued eye contact and soft breaths that crash against her mouth and _tempt_.

"Yeah," Felicity nods. "Of course not. Sure," she mumbles as she lowers her head, embarrassed.

Sara hates that she has made Felicity feel insecure, or ashamed for asking, because she shouldn't. It is a wonder to Sara that Felicity has paid enough attention to notice anything beyond the already-odd penchant she's developed for those tiny little kisses to Felicity's shoulder, and Felicity is not wrong. With that night, Sara had begun to consider a number of things about her life and her feelings, and it has strained some of her personal interactions, since.

No, Felicity is not wrong at all, and it is beyond humbling that Felicity has bothered to ask if Sara even _wants_ to talk about it – or about anything. So Sara scrambles internally for something to make this better; something that is not a lie, but will not force her into a conversation that she is not at all prepared for.

Felicity shuffles in her seat in order to turn around, but Sara stops her from moving by shifting the hand at the back of Felicity's chair to the side of Felicity's face, instead.

"But when I am ready," she says meaningfully, ghosting her fingers across the delicate flesh of Felicity's progressively reddening cheek, "you're my girl."

Felicity flushes even brighter, and it is hard – so, _so_ hard – for Sara not to do the same. Because babbling is Felicity's thing, and while Sara had not 'babbled,' per _se_, she had definitely let loose a phrase that was not so much _inaccurate _as it was just that little bit too… _heavy_.

"I'm your girl," Felicity nods in quiet agreement, smiling vaguely.

Sara's heart trips anxiously in her chest in the brief moment of eye contact that follows, but even though she thinks that she has managed to keep herself outwardly calm, like before, Felicity breaks her gaze away, anyway, and Sara _feels_ like it is because Felicity knows that no matter how outwardly calm she may appear, it is naught but a farce.

**III.**

It is Laurel who makes Sara own her feelings, first, even if she does so without any such intention.

Sara hasn't spent as much time with her sister since her return as she would have liked, but Sara is not as good at secret-keeping as Oliver. It strains her psyche to lie to Laurel, and Sara avoids doing so whenever she can – which often means that Sara ultimately avoids _Laurel_ whenever she can.

It isn't fair, but it is nevertheless true.

Still, Sara misses her. She calls and schedules a coffee date with her sister, and when she shows up, the grin that Laurel issues in her direction makes Sara decide that, lies or no, she needs to find a way to spend more time with her family without allowing guilt to crush her from within.

"I know it's been months," Laurel laughs as Sara sits down, lightly pushing a cup of coffee across the small table between them, "but I still have to do a double-take every time I see you."

"I'm sure that's normal," Sara chuckles back, accepting the offering of coffee with a smile and a tip of her cup in Laurel's direction.

Coffee is not Sara's favorite, and she would most likely have ordered tea, given the choice, but it was sweet of Laurel to treat her, and she is grateful, nevertheless.

"I don't actually think there _is_ a standard for 'normal' when your sister comes back from the dead," Laurel counters, amused.

"True," Sara grants, still smiling lightly.

"So," Laurel hauls in a deep breath and sighs it out all at once, "you look happy."

Sara is unsure that she even _knows_ happiness, anymore, but she realizes in that moment that she has felt more in recent weeks than she ever even felt capable of in Nanda Parbat. She had felt half-dead upon her return to Starling City, and she still struggles greatly with the contradictions of her past and present selves – but she _feels_.

She feels worry for her family and worry for Oliver and she is always, always worried for Felicity Smoak. Worry is not Sara's preferred emotion, but it is proof positive that she has begun to rebuild, because Sara has people to worry _for_. Sara has a network of people in her life, now, which she has not had in years.

Because Nyssa is Nyssa, but she had neither needed nor wanted Sara's worry, and even if she had, it would have been weakness to have shown it; Sara is not entirely sure that their union was exactly _sanctioned_, anyway – and if it was, it certainly had not been sanctioned by the Demon. Besides, any member of the League of Assassins will protect their own to the best of their ability, but it is honor which motivates them; Sara hardly ever knew anything about any of her fellow assassins, and it was easiest when everyone kept it that way.

They were not her people.

But Sara _has_ people, now. She has her family, she has Ollie, and she has Sin; Sara has Felicity, and even Dig and Roy – and, when she's feeling particularly self-indulgent, Sara will event count Thea among them.

"I've got some good things going for me," Sara eventually shrugs, idly tapping her fingers against the cardboard sleeve of her cup.

"Yeah?" Laurel grins brightly. "Like what?"

"Friends," Sara smiles. "A job. Things to keep me busy," she shrugs again.

"Any _close_ friends?" Laurel raises her brows interestedly.

Sara knows this look, and Sara knows this tone; she knows it from a time long ago, and though Sara has long felt detached from her teenaged self, it is still a battle not to blush under her sister's eager stare.

Because Laurel is prying about her love life, and though Sara presently has some fairly ambiguous… _relations_ with Oliver, it is not The Arrow whom she thinks of first.

It is corn silk hair and bright pink lips and bright pink nail polish to match; it is sky blue eyes that shimmer even in darkness and finely toned biceps that lack the rigidity of muscle in Sara's own; it is defined calves that swell above colorful high heels, guiding up pale thighs that lead to a deliciously sinful ass that Sara is not above watching, if discretion can be managed when doing so.

That, in itself, is a sign which Sara chooses not to linger over for too long.

The hesitation during which Sara could not _help_ but linger over that godforsaken sign, however, is enough to drive Laurel forward, even if Sara wishes only that she would just… _not_.

"Sara," Laurel insists expectantly, leaning forward slightly over the table.

Sara bows her head and takes a moment, but when she lifts it again, she says softly, "I'm not… _there_, yet, Laurel."

"Does he know that?" Laurel asks gently. "I only ask because your face is practically exploding with guilt right now. And I'm pretty sure that this is something to be happy about. Isn't it?"

Sara closes her eyes and withholds a sigh. Her father hadn't exactly been what one would call thrilled about Nyssa, but he had tolerated it and even remarked that he wanted only for Sara to be happy. Still, Sara is unsure if his disapproval stems from Sara's actual attraction to the fairer sex, or if it is solely Nyssa of whom he disapproves.

She is nervous, and she wants nothing more than to end this conversation with whatever dignity she feels she has left – but Sara doesn't want to lie to Laurel. Not anymore. Not about this, at least, which involves nothing of her nighttime endeavors and therefore means no danger to Laurel.

So Sara takes a deep breath, holds it for three seconds, and releases it in two.

"I think she knows," Sara tells her sister quietly. "I told her that I would talk to her when I'm ready."

Laurel chokes a little on a sip of coffee, and Sara bites her lip, waiting anxiously for a reply.

"Oh," Laurel says, dropping back in her seat with slightly widened eyes. "That's… Really?" She asks. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with it. You were just always so- boy crazy," Laurel laughs awkwardly, sifting her fingers through her hair as she regards Sara with curiosity and a little disbelief.

"Yeah, well," Sara rolls her shoulder slightly, "my options were pretty limited for a while. It's not like I met too many people, and the ones I did come into contact with were, for the most part, like me. Isolated. And eventually people just became… _people_. I took human company when I could get it."

"But that sounds more just like it was out of convenience," Laurel frowns. "Are you actually- _attracted_ to women?"

Sara laughs, and cannot help it, because although Sara has been coming to realize that her relationship with Nyssa was not exactly healthy, there is no doubt that Sara finds her _beyond_ attractive.

"Yes," she answers with a grin.

"But aren't you and Ollie…?"

"Sort of," Sara admits. "I think… I think it's mostly just familiar. And that when we're together, we don't have to… pretend," she finishes quietly, averting her gaze.

Because that is as honest as Sara can be, at least about Oliver; they are friends and they have shared, traumatic experiences, and it is so, so nice to be understood in that way. Sara is grateful for him, and she loves him – but Sara has never been _in_ love with Oliver Queen.

"Have you talked to him about it? This girl, I mean," Laurel elaborates.

Sara shakes her head. "It's- complicated," she decides.

It is.

It isn't that Sara thinks Oliver will mind if they are not together. Not that he doesn't care, of course – just that Oliver is not in love with Sara, either, and he will not be heartbroken by their inevitable separation.

What _might_ break his heart is if Sara leaves him for Felicity. Because Oliver may think he is too dangerous or volatile or broody to be with Felicity in the way that she deserves, but he does not want anyone else to be what Felicity deserves, either.

If it comes to it, Sara will explain to him how that is unfair – because surely Felicity does not _deserve_ to be alone?

Still, that is only a concern for when or if _Sara_ feels ready to be what Felicity deserves. And Sara is not there, yet.

"Well," Laurel chews thoughtfully at her lower lip, "either way, I'm happy for you. Even if it's _too_ complicated, or if it doesn't work out, it's… Sara, it's _really_ nice to see you smile. I could throw this girl a party, just for that."

So Sara smiles again, and whispers with all the sisterly affection that she has ever been able to feel, "Thanks."

Because, though it feels a bit foreign, the smile that curls up the edges of her mouth at the indirect mention of Felicity _feels_ nice, too.

Plus, Sara is awash with pride, inside.

This is a step. A relatively small one, granted, but a step, nevertheless. Laurel knows next to nothing about Sara's time away, but it is wonderful, still, to share something new with her sister.

It is wonderful to have this time with her at all, and Sara is warm in this feeling of closeness that she had sincerely feared she'd lost forever.


	3. IV

**IV.**

When the sun sets after Sara's coffee plans with Laurel, she finds herself suffused with a feeling that is remarkably light and incredibly foreign.

The giddiness in her stomach necessitates some form of outlet, so Sara finds one.

She suits up and patrols and smashes in the face of a 20-something kid who seems to experience some trouble removing his hands from the teenaged girl he'd dragged into the alley five minutes before Sara had spotted him.

When she has sufficiently disabled him, Sara binds his hands and comforts the girl all the way up until the SCPD sirens send her back into the shadows and atop the roof of the neighboring warehouse.

Sara was already in a good mood, but now she is feeling successful and helpful and like she is actually, _maybe _making some kind of difference, here in Starling. And Sara really wants to share in that feeling with someone else.

It does not surprise Sara that the first person she thinks of is Felicity Smoak, but still, she _is_ surprised to find herself holding two bags of Chinese takeout just outside Felicity's apartment half an hour later.

Because there are many things that Sara wants, but few things in which she will allow herself to indulge. Sara is not altogether sure that 'indulging' in Felicity Smoak is a good idea, just yet, but if nothing else, she decides as she raises her fist to rap her knuckles against the door, Felicity certainly is a weakness for Sara.

A weakness which Sara can allow herself to succumb to, at least for tonight.

Sara perhaps should have spared a bit more thought to her plan, however, because when Felicity opens the door, it is clear to Sara that she had been in bed. Felicity's hair is tied up in a ponytail that has been loosened by sleep, so that small strands of blonde hang around her face and tickle against her ears; her eyes are squinted and tired, and a weary palm rises beneath her glasses to rub against them even as Felicity's brows furrow in confusion.

"Am I dreaming? Because I don't feel like I'm dreaming, but this is the sort of visit I'd really only expect _in_ a dream. Not that I was expecting you, because, clearly," Felicity frowns and gestures down the length of her torso, indicating a pair of light grey sleep pants and a soft cotton t-shirt in pink that is just a bit too small and doesn't quite reach the line of her waist, exposing a strip of bare flesh to Sara's appreciative gaze, "I was definitely not expecting you, but… well, you know what I mean."

"I'm sorry," Sara smiles ruefully, even as her shoulders hunch forward slightly in self-disappointment. "I forgot that normal people use nights for practical things, like sleeping," she chuckles, shaking her head slightly. "I'll go."

Felicity frowns, her hand darting out swiftly to grasp Sara's forearm lightly as she shakes her head. "You don't have to," she tries softly. "I mean, I'm awake now, right?" She asks rhetorically, eyes soft and pleading for something that Sara simply cannot comprehend.

"No, really," Sara insists. "You were in bed. It was rude of me to come here so late. I'm sorry, Felicity."

"Sara," Felicity sighs softly as Sara shifts a little to move away from the door, "please stay," she whispers.

It is not the words which make Sara turn around – although, the request for Sara's continued company is flattering in a way that Sara hasn't experienced in a long time. Still, it is not the words which stop her; it is the tone.

It is the tiny crack in Felicity's hardly-there voice, and the aching desperation not to be left alone, and Sara immediately wonders where this fear of being abandoned even stems from. She wonders how she could possibly have stirred that fear to the surface by trying to allow Felicity the luxury of sleep after her blatant interruption.

Still, the tone indicates to Sara that she would do more harm by leaving than by staying, and although she now feels mildly awkward and a bit shameful for having disturbed Felicity's rest, she has no intention of causing Felicity harm in _any_ form, if it can be helped.

So Sara softly murmurs, "Are you sure?"

Felicity smiles brightly and nods, gently tugging at Sara's arm, still clutched within her fingers. "Please?" She appeals again, meeting Sara's eyes with her own.

Sara doesn't think that she could deny the request even if she wanted to, but whatever hope she might've had for doing so is shot right out the proverbial window once eye contact is made.

There is warmth in Felicity's eyes; a welcoming, affectionate thing which makes Sara just _feel _in ways that she had never quite been able to with Nyssa.

Because Nyssa – for all of her passionately devoted love – was rarely affectionate with Sara; not like this, anyway. For Nyssa would touch, and cherish, and kiss, and drown Sara in feelings that often felt entirely too overwhelming, but this innocent giving of emotion is new to her.

There is no promise in Felicity's gaze but a promise to care and support. With Nyssa, it had been a promise of tension relief, whenever their eyes had met; it had been a promise that Nyssa would make her feel better once their backs hit the sheets and Nyssa's hands would scorch her flesh.

But Felicity is not Nyssa.

Felicity's gaze does not promise a searing touch or an orgasmic relief. Felicity promises only her company and invested feelings.

It is strange that Sara is not deterred by this, because a year ago – hell, even a few months ago – Sara would wonder if this indicated a lack of interest on Felicity's part.

But Sara knows better, because Felicity is honest and kind and cannot keep her feelings secret.

With that knowledge, Sara feels… _content_ in this promise that Felicity is making. There is no pressure from Felicity for anything that Sara is not ready for; Felicity wants only to spend more time with her.

And whatever else Sara may be feeling, Sara shares that desire with her.

It is nice that there are no expectations of what must happen if Sara crosses the threshold, and the lack of them is, perhaps, what motivates Sara to concede.

Sara nods. "Okay," she says.

"Really?" Felicity beams. "I mean, yeah. Okay. Good. Come in," she instructs, words nearly blurring together in her haste to spit them out as she widens the door and pulls Sara through.

Sara chuckles and shakes her head, but follows Felicity into a cozy-looking living room. There is a couch, a loveseat, a 46" television mounted to the wall, a cabinet which houses some innumerable number of DVDs, and several framed pictures on the walls with aerial views of Paris, New York, and Rome.

It does not escape Sara's notice that there are no pictures of Felicity's family or friends, here. Sara wonders if Felicity's desk at work is where those more personal pictures can be found, but somehow Sara doubts it.

Sara honestly doubts that such pictures exist, and it devastates her.

Because even stranded at sea, even stranded on the Amazo, and even isolated as she was in The League, Sara had always carried a picture of her mother, father, and sister. Sara wonders if Felicity truly feels that she has no one, and if that is the case, Sara will find a way to be her _someone_.

Felicity _deserves_ someone.

"Okay, I really don't mean to rush you, but that smells… _wow_, really good. What did you bring? And how did you even find a place open this late? It's three in the morning," Felicity huffs out a laugh.

Sara ambles idly behind her as Felicity disappears to the kitchen, and when Sara meets her, she smiles warmly and sets the bags on the counter, next to the plates Felicity has pulled from the cupboards.

"Chinese," Sara tells her. "I have a guy."

"Do you have a Thai guy?" Felicity cants her head slightly to the right, even as her hands busy themselves with helping Sara to open the small cartons of food. "The rhyme was unintended," she announces, hands stilling briefly as the connection is made that, yes, she _had_ rhymed her words, and Sara grins. "I mostly only ask because Dig always gets these crazy cravings for Thai food after he and Oliver come back from a mission, and it might be okay to surprise him every now and then. Just, usually it's too late at night for me to find anywhere, and sometimes I think they deserve a surprise, so – "

"I have a Thai guy," Sara chuckles.

It is not that she wants to interrupt Felicity, because she does not; in fact, Sara enjoys that whenever she feels incapable of talking, or even just unwilling to do so, Felicity can always fill the empty space between them.

It is only an upside that Felicity can manage to be so adorable while doing it.

Still, Sara is startlingly aware of how babbling can make Felicity feel uncomfortable, at times. Sara doesn't necessarily agree that it should, because Felicity rarely makes herself out to be the fool that she believes, but Sara tries to interrupt as soon as she notices that Felicity's cheeks are brightening with color.

Sara likes to believe that she is, in an admittedly small way, still protecting Felicity – even if it is only from her own personal overshares.

"Mm," Felicity hums as she pulls a fork from her mouth that had, moments before, been coated in sweet and sour sauce from a piece of chicken that she had doled onto her plate. "God, that's good."

"My guy's the best one in town," Sara says teasingly, tearing open a packet of chopsticks and setting them across her plate.

"Oh," Felicity frowns in realization. "Do you want a drink? I have milk. And water. And tea. I know you like tea. There's a bottle of red, if you want. Or I think I might have a can of Sprite around here, somewhere? Sorry," Felicity smiles weakly. "I really don't have people over very often."

Sara refuses to allow her instantaneous sadness to become visible, because she truly is having a good time, and she wants Felicity to have the same, but it confirms what Sara had suspected before.

Felicity does not have friends outside of Team Arrow; not _really_. And while Dig seems to be a stand-up guy who considers the feelings of others whenever possible, Oliver is more self-absorbed than that.

Oliver is a good guy, too – Sara will never dispute that – but he is driven, and focused on his crusade. His priorities lie in managing his day life and his night life, and often he spares little thought for anything (or, in this case, any_one_) else.

He will protect Felicity with all that he has, and everyone on the team knows it, but that doesn't necessarily mean that he is a good friend to Felicity. Because he really sort of isn't, as much as Sara hates to realize it.

It is unfair that Felicity has given her career and her night life and even pieces of her heart to Oliver Queen when he makes so little effort to return such kindnesses.

Sara has to regroup quickly when she notices Felicity's anxious look, and before the IT specialist can begin her embarrassed rambling, Sara announces, "Milk. Definitely milk."

"My mom always told me it was weird to have milk with dinner," Felicity says, retrieving a couple of glasses from another cabinet closer to the refrigerator.

"Well, it's three in the morning," Sara shrugs. "Technically, this could be breakfast."

"I'm pretty sure that my mom would also have something to say about having Chinese for breakfast," Felicity counters. "Something that would probably sound like, 'don't'. Or more probably, 'Who the hell eats Chinese for breakfast, anyway?'"

Sara hesitates before asking – because she is curious, yes, and has been since the night Felicity was shot and mentioned her mother in passing, but she has no desire to ask if it will put a stop to this easy conversation and playfulness between them.

Still, she wants to know and is feeling brave, and Felicity was the one to bring her mother up in the first place, so Sara steps out on a limb.

"Your mom… You said she was gone a lot?" She leads gently.

Felicity stiffens so abruptly that Sara immediately regrets asking, but Felicity does not shy away from offering an answer.

"It was just me and my mom. She worked a lot. It wasn't her fault. She just…" Felicity sighs and offers Sara a freshly poured glass of milk, which Sara accepts with a comforting brush of her fingers against Felicity's. Felicity smiles a little at their touching hands before she withdraws. "She always thought I needed things that I didn't want, and wasn't really around to give me the things I did want."

"Her time?" Sara guesses, proffering the words with a gentle understanding as she trails behind Felicity back toward the couch, where they set their dishware on the coffee table before them.

Felicity looks over at her.

It is a heavy look, brimming with intensity, and normally Sara might feel panic. But she doesn't. Because the intensity in Felicity's eyes is calculating, and like she is determining if Sara can be trusted – and there is very little that Sara would do to breach Felicity's trust, if given another option.

So Sara steadily meets Felicity's gaze with her own, and allows all of her feelings (both verbalized and unspoken) to bleed through her eyes.

Sara feels vulnerable, yes – because although she is not doing so with words, she is exposing everything to Felicity Smoak in this moment. But Felicity needs it, and Sara thinks that maybe she might need it, too.

There is no one in Starling City who Sara can be this honest with. No one but Felicity.

There has been no one but Felicity to trust with this sort of honesty since before the Gambit – and then, trust had not been so important to Sara. There had been less to trust others _with_. Now, Sara understands that trusting the wrong people can not only get you hurt, emotionally, but can literally get you killed.

Sara knows, though, that she can trust Felicity.

And, evidently, Felicity understands that she can trust Sara.

"Her time," Felicity confesses on a sigh. "Her attention. I don't know," she shrugs. "We were always different, and she always had a hard time understanding me – which isn't really her fault, I guess. I was a difficult kid. Most children with high IQs tend to have a strained social life, and I failed a couple of my elementary years because of it. Well, that, and I was _absurdly_ bored with the material. She… did the best she could, I think, but we aren't close. Or, not as close as we could be. It's fine. We're too different, anyway, and most of the time, I think she's… Well, not irritating, because she's my mom. But, if she wasn't my mom, that would probably be the right word. "

Sara mulls over this for a moment, chewing thoughtfully on a bite of chicken fried rice, before she decides that the only appropriate way to counter this huge leap of trust from Felicity is with one of her own.

"I was always closer to my mom than my dad. I was a little too reckless for him, I think," Sara shuffles a foot underneath her and shifts her plate in her lap so that she can face Felicity a little better. "It was just never… _easy_ for me to talk to him. I was a teenager, and one without much of a plan for my life. Laurel always had plans," Sara smiles down at her own lap. "Laurel always wanted to be just like him. She strayed a little from her idea to be a cop when we were kids," she laughs softly, "but being a lawyer is still some form of serving justice. I wanted to be a doctor," she snorts at herself, maneuvering her chopsticks to lift a noodle into her mouth.

"You didn't stray far, either," Felicity shrugs, watching Sara's easy manipulation of the thin wooden sticks.

Sara imagines that Felicity probably can't use chopsticks, and wonders if one of these days, maybe she could show her.

Then Felicity's words sink in, and Sara frowns her bemusement. "How do you mean?"

"Well," Felicity furrows her brows and turns to regard Sara with matching confusion, as though she doesn't quite grasp how Sara can't understand, "doctors save people. So do you. I mean, it's different; _obviously_ it's different," Felicity rolls her eyes at herself, "and I know that- I know that you did some bad stuff before you got back to Starling… But you save people, now, Sara. And half the people in this city wouldn't even _make it_ to a doctor without you and Oliver to help. So maybe… maybe stop thinking of yourself as such a disappointment?" Felicity fumbles nervously with her fork and flickers her eyes to peek at Sara's reaction.

But Sara isn't sure that she can form one.

She is shell-shocked by Felicity's evaluation of her, and she doesn't quite know _how_ to react.

Because it is sweet of Felicity to say, yes, but she does not believe that Felicity is _right_. Sara has done so many things that would not only have been disappointing to her family, were they ever to find out, but that were disappointing even to Sara herself.

Sara does not believe that she is a good person. So Sara tells her that.

"I've… done some really- _terrible_ things, Felicity," she bows her head shamefully.

"That doesn't mean you aren't doing good things now," Felicity huffs. "Okay," she says when she detects Sara's skeptical frown, "if a kid steals a cookie, he's broken the rules, right? But that doesn't make him a bad kid forever. It means he gets in trouble and has to deal with the consequences, and hopefully he learns not to do it again. So… you got yourself into some trouble with The League of Terrifying Assassins," Sara laughs at this, despite herself, and Felicity grins at her response, "and now you're dealing with the consequences. You're not a bad person forever, Sara. You're just a kid who stole a cookie."

Sara is, in fact, a _woman_ who, for many years, stole _lives_ – but she understands Felicity's thinking. She still isn't sure that she believes it, but, if nothing else, Felicity's faith and unwavering support makes Sara feel that redemption is maybe something achievable.

Sara doesn't know that she will ever counter her awful deeds with enough good ones, but she will try. For all the lives that Sara has taken, she hopes to restore more; it may not make her feel better, but she could still help someone else.

Felicity seems to realize that Sara needs a moment, so the IT girl maintains silence for as long as Sara thinks she is capable of.

When she speaks, it is such a relief that Sara bursts into laughter in spite of her whirling feelings.

"Now I really want a cookie," Felicity muses thoughtfully.

Still laughing delightedly at Felicity's unwitting charm, Sara reaches into her pocket and tosses a fortune cookie across the couch.

"And you didn't even steal it," Felicity jests playfully.

"You wouldn't know if I did," Sara counters on the ends of a chuckle.

"Probably true, but then I have plausible deniability, so it doesn't affect me either way," Felicity shrugs, munching happily on her cookie.

"You didn't read the fortune," Sara notices.

"I don't trust a cookie to tell me about my future," Felicity laughs. "I trust it to make my taste buds happy. And it does. So I'm never disappointed."

Sara wonders if this is Felicity's perception of life; never expect more from anyone than they are willing to offer, so that you cannot be let down.

It is a safe way to live, if not a bit sad – but Sara makes it clear that she is working to offer more.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"What… for?" Felicity ventures to ask, though hesitation pauses her fork midway to her mouth as she warily eyes Sara for a response.

"Talking with me," Sara smiles warmly and reaches out to lightly squeeze Felicity's thigh beneath her palm. "Being here. Keeping your word. It means a lot."

"Yeah," Felicity accepts on a whisper. "I mean, of course. I care about you," she murmurs. "You're important to me. I know I can't help much with what you do at night, or with anything, maybe – but I'm always here, Sara."

"I know," Sara says, her voice cracking with emotion as she finally releases Felicity's leg and smiles tearfully in the other blonde's direction.

It's just that Felicity really makes Sara feel like she can be… _normal_. Like it honestly does not matter what Sara has done in her past so long as she feels remorse for it. Felicity makes Sara feel hope and tenderness and a desire to be _better_.

And Sara promises herself that she _will_ be better. For Felicity, she will be better.

* * *

_Author's Note:_ Please review, if you're still reading. I'm not sure how interested you guys are, or if I've skewed the characters too far from their canon-selves. Let me know.


End file.
